


Death? I can fix that.

by Doctor_Sirus



Category: My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Re-Animator (1985)
Genre: Angst, F/F, Fear of Death, Gore, Grave Robbers, Mad Scientist, Nudity, Rage Zombie, Reanimation, Researcher Twilight, Undead
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-31
Updated: 2017-02-11
Packaged: 2018-09-21 04:51:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9532217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doctor_Sirus/pseuds/Doctor_Sirus
Summary: Celestia was right; Twilight still had so much to learn. After dealing with horrors and terrors on a nearly weekly basis, she begins to fear for the lives of her friends, and starts her search for the ultimate safeguard. The power to reverse death itself.Now all she needs is a subject. The perfect subject. Twilight knows just how to make her.





	1. Dead Dreams Don't Die

**Author's Note:**

> As a forewarning, this story will contain clop in a later chapter, but not between who you think.

> _ Dear Princess Celestia _
> 
>  
> 
> _ Yes, I know you said I should stop using the honorific when writing personal letters, but it’s been so ingrained into me that without it, any letter feels incomplete. I’ve always been a little anxious if I don’t follow my daily routines. In my early days back when the library still stood, I had a checklist of everything from waking up to walking out the door. And I mean everything. Where I put my toothbrush, the best cup for morning coffee, even what I was going to lay out for suggested reading the following week. _
> 
>  
> 
> _ Routines work, so no need to fix what’s not broken, after all. I appreciate you seeing me as an equal in the eyes of the law along with just seeing me as nothing more than a regular pony when we’re together. I know that you are frowning at my insistence, but it’s what I’m comfortable with. I understand that doing so might make you uncomfortable, so how about we sit down and talk about it next time I stop by Canterlot? _
> 
>  
> 
> _ Boy, I really lost track of where this letter was going real fast. This is why it’s good to have Spike help me draft them. I tend to ramble too easily. _
> 
>  
> 
> _ Anyway, the purpose of this letter. I’m afraid this one has a more philosophical note to it. I know we’ve had some philosophical discussions in the past, and sometimes even Princess Luna partakes in the discourse. Back when I was a filly in Canterlot castle, I was one to want little. I didn’t care for friends. It wasn’t out of some disregard for social interaction; I was fully comfortable just being on my own. One of my favorite pastimes was to sit by the window during a snowstorm and read. _
> 
>  
> 
> _ Now that I have several friends across town, I can see their use in more than just a utilitarian sense like I did as a child. Fun is no longer just sitting in the quiet. I love my friends. Sure, there are many days where I pass on picnics or outings to stay indoors by myself, but it’s become the better of two options rather than the only option. Pinkie’s love, AJ’s sense of family, Fluttershy’s compassion. Now that I have things like that, I don’t want to give any of that up. _
> 
>  
> 
> _ And so we come to the crux of the problem. I don’t want to give up what I have here. I don’t mean in a “I don’t want to move out of Ponyville” sense, I mean I like what’s here and I never want to let it go. In a way, I blame the Nightmare Moon incident (If you ever read this Princess Luna, I bear you no ill will in saying that). The six of us did what we had to out of a sense of camaraderie and fearful self preservation. Then came Discord, then the Changelings, Sombra, etcetera. Nightmare Moon inoculated me against feeling that fearful sense of death every time it happened thereafter. _
> 
>  
> 
> _ It’s been on my mind more and more with each passing month. Once, I awoke from a dream where I was in Ponyville completely as is, but my friends were gone and absolutely no one remembered them but me. I’ve had many adventures and have even saved the world a fair few times. I’ve grown up enough to understand that much of what we’ve gone through was only successful with a healthy injection of luck every now and then. _
> 
>  
> 
> _ We’ve been lucky. By the powers, I’m grateful for what I have, but I am fearful of the time where fate won’t be so kind. I’m reminded of a thief’s prayer: “Never question good luck, only pray it never runs out.” _
> 
>  
> 
> _ Who knew I’d start having a midlife crisis at age 28? I suppose I’ve seen and done more things than ponies twice my age, or even Daring Do. Make no mistake, I’m still happy here in Ponyville, but these thoughts have been fermenting in the back of my mind. I admit, I’ve been afraid of what could happen. I can help my friends through so much, and magic is good for many things, but no pony can cheat death yet. That fear I felt back during the Summer Sun Celebration is different now. I’m not afraid for my own life, but I desperately fear what my life would become should I lose my friends. _
> 
>  
> 
> _ Perhaps it is needless worrying. In all likelihood it is and I’m spouting nonsense fears like a foal afraid of thunderstorms. Death is inevitable, I know, but I’ve never had to face it. I’ve had losses, but never defeat. _
> 
>  
> 
> _ Regardless, I believe I should cease before too much worrying makes me gray prematurely. I’m waiting on Spike for more inkwells anyway. At your earliest convenience, however, could we have a chat during my next visit to Canterlot? _
> 
>  
> 
> _ Yours Sincerely, _
> 
>  
> 
> _ Twilight Sparkle _

 

 

The letter had been in the back of Twilight’s desk for close to a week. The forewarning was well-earned, and Spike’s input would have been invaluable making it more coherent. She shuddered at the thought. Spike was close to a brother to her, but despite their relationship, the contents of the letter struck a little too close to home. Spike knew her likes, dislikes, interests, secrets, favorite foods, embarrassing insecurities, and had even caught her in a rather compromising position late one night with the contents of the box under her bed. However, there were still some thoughts and feelings that she held close to the chest. 

 

No matter. Spike likely knew everything the letter said about her without even seeing it. He knew what the pair of them were doing tonight.

 

Twilight shook her head. Those thoughts were for later. She carefully returned the letter to her desk, locked it, and left her office for her castle library.

 

Twilight liked to peruse her bookshelves to kill time. She knew the placement of every tome, their every contents down to the last word. She knew where to go today. Behind the history section, around the reference books, and straight into biology. She thumbed through the books and academic articles, each and every one devoid of dust from Twilight’s recent and active use.

 

_ Harnessing Electric Control _ by Quick Pen

_ Canterlot City’s Journal of Internal Medicine _ by Helios

_ Canterlot Journal of Pony Physiology _ by Mythic Star

_ Seven Sanctums _ by Poetic Prose

_ Migration and nutritional status of orphaned schoolchildren _ by Orchid Heart

_ Zebrican Brain Mapping _ by Arid Novel

_ Psychological stress and the pony immune system _ by Mythic Star

 

She picked out Arid Novel’s book. The spine had been worn with much use and opened to a page at the start of the third chapter. Words. Words that she had read many times before and could recite them in her sleep. According to Spike, she had.

 

“Across all races, the brain is one of the most fragile. Lack of oxygen or blood flow may cause damage to living tissue after one minute of deprivation. Cell death occurs between three to six minutes of inadequate blood flow, and are considered nonviable in all fields of medical science after twelve minutes. There are rare cases where the body’s metabolism has been slowed, such as acute hypothermia, and have been revived close to an hour after a lack of oxygen. The effectiveness of such a method is untested and unproven due to the ethical implications of testing extreme cold on the body.”

 

Twilight heard a knock upon the library door. She returned the book.

 

“Come in!”

 

Despite his size, Spike was quiet. He was short and stubby for a dragon, and even carried a little bit of pudge to him, but now he even rivaled her in terms of height. His amethyst hide had hardened into beautiful scales. The only downside to his growth was that he had to consistently file down his spines and claws. Twilight’s own bookish, pudgy body had finally developed some curves. Did she get eyes from stallions because they saw the implications of her wings and horn, or that she finally, as Rainbow Dash crudely explained, “had something to grab onto”?

 

No matter. Bothersome thoughts. There was work to be done.

 

“Everything’s ready,” Spike said with a hiss. Twilight wasn’t sure why he was more quiet than in his youth. His voice had taken on a lovely baritone now that he’d matured some, yet the formally outgoing and friendly drake spoke with a calm and concise etiquette. Larger size, deeper voice, a face full of fangs. Well, Ponyville was a superstitious town and ponies were skittish by nature. Perhaps a subconscious observance of fear induced a psychosomatic response that resulted in a quieter voice.

 

Rats. Distracted again. 

 

Observations and experiments for another time. She filed away a reminder to ask him about it later.

 

“Good.”

 

She got up. Better get it over with. Spike followed her into her office where she reopened the desk draw and removed the parchment she’d just read. Before she could change her mind, she rolled it tight, tied it with a ribbon, and reached for the candle. Her seal was her own cutie mark. Rather unoriginal, but Twilight had no need for extravagance. She poured some wax and pressed her seal tight as it dried.

 

“Celestia?”

 

“Indeed.”

 

She handed it over. Spike took it and with a quick breath of emerald flames, the letter vanished. He set down the rucksack he had slung over his shoulders and pulled out the contents one by one. Inkwells, extra parchment, empty vials, book binding tape, and a small arsenal of goodies that would need to be unpacked in the basement.

 

“Spike, time for a log.”

 

Quill and parchment were in his hands before she finished her sentence. He smirked.

 

“Oh, wipe that look off your face.”

 

“Can’t help that I know you better than you know yourself, Twi.”

 

“Don’t make me start writing everything on my own.”

 

“We both know my penmanship is better.”

 

Well, he’d got her there.

 

“Quit your lip,” she pouted, “and write.”

 

Twilight cleared her throat.

 

“October first, twenty-one hundred hours. Spike and I are about to take the next step in my experiments. I admit my heart’s been beating heavy with anticipation and anxiety. So much has been building up to these next few hours. So much research and patience. This may very well be my masterpiece, my magnum opus. I have all the necessary research material, all of the biological texts and surgical equipment prepared. The spellcraft is in place and my reagents in proper doses. I am as ready as I will ever be.

 

“My experiments on animal carcasses have been promising, but such data can only show me so much. None of it will take into account the sheer complexity of a brain capable of sapient thought. For those rare cases that will, they cannot compensate for the inherent magic that resides in ponies. After all, I am not working my way up to barnyard fowl or bovine capable of carrying a conversation. No, I have my eyes on a larger prize.

 

“It is times like these that I wish Ponyville championed medical science like Canterlot. I could then have easy access to the subjects I require. There are none here in Ponyville, not even donations to medical advancement due to the town’s small size, but neither can I move my lab to Canterlot without attracting unwanted attention.”

 

At this, Twilight paused. Spike dutifully took the time to finish what he had yet to write. He had phenomenal recall.

 

“I love Celestia dearly. Like a mother. I do not think she will approve of what I have done, or what I am about to do. It was and still is my solemn word to do no harm to a living soul even if my experiments end in total failure. I do this for the greater good. I do this so loved ones don’t endlessly suffer for a mistake that occurred because fate dealt a poor hand one day. I do it to stop dread, the pain of loss.”

 

Twilight’s foot was bouncing. A sign of restlessness. Good. Better than reservation.

 

“Best case? Before the night is over, I will do what none before me has done before. I will cheat death.”

 

* * *

 

Twilight felt the bile rise in her throat. Distasteful task. Disgusting. Almost sacrilegious.

 

Necessary.

 

Spike had volunteered to go alone tonight, bless his soul. If Spike got caught, the situation would be bad, but salvageable. If it was her face on the morning paper, everything she had built, even her work that had nothing to do with her current project, would vanish like smoke on a windy day. This was something she needed to do. 

 

Spike had unlocked the mortuary window earlier that day. Bigger though he was, he slipped inside first and held out a hand. Twilight grasped it and slid into Spike’s arms. Each of them wore clothes of a soft, dark blue to blend into Luna’s bright moonlight. They needed to carry Twilight’s new test subject across town, and if by chance an insomniac caught them on their roundabout trek back to the castle, at least they might be able to cut their losses and hide. Twilight’s wings were bound close to her back and under a layer of clothes. Her horn was impossible to hide, but her wings were not. There was only one alicorn in town, so if they were seen, it wasn’t hard to guess the identity of the mystery mare.

 

Setting her down, Spike closed the window and locked it. They wouldn’t be exiting through the window anyway.

 

He motioned Twilight forward. Even though no one was supposed to be in the building, Twilight did her best to keep her breathing level and quiet. Spike was careful, and very good at following orders. He knew where to go. That did nothing to alleviate the tension in the back of her neck that demanded she fidget and stretch her wings. 

 

Spike lead them through doors and doors until they met one that was locked. Spike tried the knob and it stubbornly refused them access.

 

Mors

**Mortician**

 

Twilight’s horn was alight for just a moment with lavendar energy before the lock clicked. Why bother locking the door when no one in their right mind would break into a mortuary? No break-ins meant low security, which meant cheap locks.

 

“And here I wanted to try out some bobby pins,” Spike whispered.

 

The pair of them slunk into the office. Spike’s long and sinuous tail slid a chair out of the way for her. It was a simple office. Papers stacked the simple desk, and an old, rusted shovel was mounted on the wall above a safe. Twilight licked her lips.

 

She almost jumped as she heard the loud, clanging iron directly behind her. Oh, no, they tripped a silent alarm on the window and the police were here to arrest them both. Twilight’s gut sank through the floor.

 

“They’re not in the safe, Twi.” Spike twirled an iron band around a finger, the two ancient, iron keys clinging together with every spin. Behind him was a cork board with several hooks. The only empty one was labeled “Cemetery Key”.

 

“Spike, scare me like that again, and I swear I will turn you into carpet.”

 

He shrugged.

 

“Sorry for the spook. Just trying to lighten the mood.”

 

“There’s hardly room for jokes during a grave robbery.”

 

“Hey, I know my routine will knock them dead.”

 

* * *

 

Twilight could have flown over—even teleported over—but both would have been problems for carting her subject back to the lab. She couldn’t fly both Spike and a body over the stone walls. Teleporting into the cemetery wasn’t a problem, but she dared not risk having her magic clinging to her test subject and contaminating her plans for tonight. She still needed to cart a body back to the lab with Spike. It was a long way back to the castle with nothing but a snarky drake and a corpse to keep her company.

 

“It could be worse.”

 

“We could get caught?”

 

“It could be raining.”

 

She wanted to kill him. The occasional mirth helped bring some much-needed levity to a grim situation, yet her stomach was still trying to tie itself in knots. Ever the faithful assistant. Never had Spike strayed from her side.

 

This was for him as much as for her friends.

 

Spike had managed to stow away some equipment in advance. No one was thoughtless enough to vandalise or litter in the cemetery, so Mors wasn’t one to look for things that didn’t belong. Crisscrossed shovels buried in the brush under a tree, and a body bag filled with supplies was what their tools amounted to. She followed his lead, during her best to ignore his occasional ribbing.

 

It was the only grave with fresh soil. The tombstone itself was solid granite and clean, but Twilight did not look at it. Her nerves were already shaky. She didn’t need a reason to stop when they were already waist deep. 

 

They could always just come back another night—no. They couldn’t. Spike must have saw the look on her face.

 

“Wanna back out?”

 

She shook her head. Her shovel was the first to pierce the dirt.

 

* * *

 

The basement of the castle was Twilight’s own personal laboratory. She could have had the pick of the litter with how much more space the castle had over the library, but it was what she was familiar with, and so it remained. Spike had already come back after returning the keys. Both were already adorned in sterile gowns.

 

Twilight wouldn’t likely need them, but pony diagrams of pony musculature, skeletal, and nervous systems had been taped to the walls for reference material. To the left were her alchemical stands. A Lion’s Blood potion already concocted for weakened muscle control had been prepared ahead of time, as well as all the reagents she’d need for a quick for a few quick drafts of select elixirs. 

 

To the right was a table full of surgical materials. Jars full of earth pony organs of identical bloodtype, all preserved in a Chilltouch draft lines the table in an orderly line. Scalpels were assorted by size and then function. Seven types of forceps, a bone cutter, rib splitter, a thread holder, retractor, scissors; she had everything she’d need and more. A freezer was tucked at the end of the table, its steady hum filling the air.

 

Towards the north wall was her spellcraft. Ironroot, silver dust, manticore gallbladder, and tatzlwurm blood all lay in assorted, color-coded dishes. She would be doing the bulk of that work tonight.

 

At the center of it all was a surgical table. An old stallion dressed in his sunday best lay across it. He had a chestnut mane stained with gray. His body had the slight smell of must and dirt, along with the familiar scent of formaldehyde. He was older than Twilight would have liked, but they weren’t flush with options.

 

“Smells like pickles,” Spike’s voice was muffled behind his face mask.

 

“That’s the formaldehyde.”

 

“Why does formaldehyde smell like pickles?”

 

“...I really don’t know.” That was never something she asked in Advanced Biology class.

 

Spike snapped on his own specially modified surgical gloves. Normal latex or rubber gloves wouldn’t be much use on clawed hands, filed or not. 

 

“Ready when you are, professor.”

 

Huh. Professor Twilight. It had a nice ring to it. Twilight pulled on her own gloves and put up her mask. It was time to get to work.

 

Before anything, she had to reverse the effects of Mors’ embalming. To do that, her willing subject needed to be stripped of his funeral attire. She carefully undid the buttons on his suit while Spike performed the herculean task of removing his pants and undergarments. Each piece was bagged and stored in a cabinet. There he lay, cold and dead to the world.

 

Heh. “Dead”.

 

Oh no, she was turning into Spike.

 

Deep breaths. The hard part was over. The pair of them acquired their body, the gravesite was carefully restored so Mors wouldn’t notice, and no pony was the wiser. The just had the easy part, the gross part, and the uncertain part left.

 

With clothes soaked in lukewarm water, the pair washed the cadaver from head to foot.

 

“Aspirator.”

 

Her ultimate plan, to restore the dead to life, had two phases. Restoring the body was the easier of the two. Reversing death... well, this was what trial runs were for. Even if everything worked perfectly, if her mixture of witchcraft and science pulled through, no pony could live with an embalmed body. Twilight used the aspirator to remove what chemicals she could. The body needed to be restored into perfect working order, down to the last organ. An hour passed. Then another. The pair of them worked together with Twilight guiding both sets of hands as needed.

 

“Start up the pump.”

 

Embalming fluid, along with whatever disgusting tidbits they removed from the body, were placed in a large jar. The smell was ungodly, and Twilight took a few minutes to rub some frankincense under her nose. The worst part was pumping out the veins of fluid, an even worse sort of smell that left Twilight dry heaving twice.

 

Twilight walked to the fridge and removed pint after pint of blood. The most important piece of the night was in a little case directly behind the last pack. Eight vials of a glowing green fluid beckoned her. It was time. They were calling to her.

 

She removed one and placed it on the table next to her blood supply. Given the time it was taking, putrefaction was a concern. Yet a body still needed blood. Spike’s hands were as deft as any surgeon and he found the femoral vein on the first try. He began cycling the body with blood. Bag after bag was pumped into the corpse.

 

Spike reached for the glowing vial, needle in hand.

 

“No.”

 

Spike blinked.

 

“I’ll do it.”

 

He nodded and handed both to Twilight. This was it. The final stage of her work.

 

“Thirty CCs of reagent,” she told herself. That was her guess, anyway. The needle was slowly filling with the liquid. Pulling it off the cap, Spike held the head up to give her the body’s spine. “Injecting into the brain now.”

 

The reagent disappeared little by little. Spike immediately put down the corpse’s head and stepped back as Twilight hopped towards her reagent table and mixed ingredients. This was for herself. It didn’t matter what the taste was. Now they were on a clock. 

 

Finishing off the concoction, Twilight’s horn began to vibrate with the same lavendar light as earlier that night. A dash of lightning for the nerves, water for the organs, and wind for the lungs. Her thaumaturgical craft vibrated in the air. The body shook as the nerves were shocked into life. Smells, sights, and sounds all passed her by, but Twilight’s mind was on weaving her spells. She was blind, deaf, and mute to the world, unable to respond to the most basic stimuli. This was magic of the highest caliber, and as black as the gates of hell.

 

The image of her lab vanished and was replaced with the lingering threads of power circling the air. It wasn’t just a single spell that she needed to craft, but layers on layers that interlocked and worked in perfect harmony. Healing magic alone was dangerous due to the wrong bit of flesh moving being unimaginably torturous. Light, fire, and everything in between swam in her vision.

 

“How many fingers am I holding up?”

 

Twilight blinked. She was on the floor with the masked face of Spike looking down at her. He held up three clawed fingers, which he changed to two, then four, back to three, then five.

 

“How about me?” She held up only one.

 

“You’re cured.”

 

He held a hand and lifted her to her shaky legs. The body hadn’t moved.

 

“You’ve been out for about two minutes,” Spike said.

 

“Too long.”

 

“I’ve been watching. No signs of movement, respiration, heartbeat, anything.”

 

Twilight sighed. Then it was a waiting game.

 

Three minutes.

 

This was it. The calm before the storm.

 

Four minutes.

 

All she needed to do was wait. It was out of her hands now.

 

Five minutes.

 

But this  _ was _ taking a while.

 

Six minutes.

 

More reagent next time?

 

Seven min—

 

His hand moved. Both Spike and she froze. Another twitch. No outwards stimuli, not even light across the optic nerve. This was completely independant. She didn’t move. This was it. 

 

“It’s alive...  _ It’s alive _ !”

 

He sat up and screamed.

 

The former corpse’s skin was flush with fresh blood in his veins. He turned to Twilight. She didn’t even have time to react as the reanimated body  flung itself off the table and wrapped a pair of meaty hands around her throat. She saw stars as her head was bashed into a table and the world flashed white. Blood pooled around her subject’s mouth. Not once did he stop screaming in her face, just an endless barrage of noise. The fingers tightened on her neck. She tried desperately to breath, but nothing came. Even her held breath had nowhere to escape.

 

Her face was coated in a wave of red fluid and the fingers released themselves. Twilight turned away and started coughing, never more thankful to get a taste of sweet, wonderful oxygen than she was now. Something thumped to the floor. She turned towards the pony that she had given life and scrambled away, slipping on a patch of blood.

 

Spike held the stallion by the throat, while his other hand had plunged through his chest so hard, Twilight saw his claws poking through the other side. The once dead pony was now dead again, a gaping hole in his chest dripping fresh blood. Spike removed his arm from the pony’s chest. Viscera and droplets of blood clung to his arm, the vibrant scales now stained crimson. Blood began to pool on the clean floor.

 

Twilight couldn’t stop herself. She started snickering. Giggling. Soon she was openly laughing in between coughs caused by her damaged throat. Why was she laughing? Her reanimation project failed, at least the first trial run did. They’d both robbed a grave. She’d brought the dead back to life, if that could be called life. It didn’t matter. She had to laugh.

 

And Spike, bless his soul, still wouldn’t shut the hell up.

 

“Well that didn’t work.”


	2. I Took These Two Bits From Charon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After her last failed attempt, Twilight alters her method a little, and gets a response from Celestia.

Twilight knew it was a long shot. She had a lingering hope that the procedure would have worked as expected, and in a way it did. She’d successfully reanimated a corpse, just not in the way she wanted. Was it considered self defense when the victim was dead once before? Did reanimated bodies count as the living in the eyes of the law? Huh.

 

She and Spike had cleaned up the mess in the basement. Spike offered to quietly dispose of the body, but it was a perfect opportunity for further experimentation. At the very least it might give her enough data to properly modify the next procedure. It wasn’t smart to conduct an autopsy while deep in the night and operating on little sleep, but the more the corpse decayed, the less viable her data would be. It would be an autopsy this time around, and a fresh array of tools and clothes for both.

 

Twilight unlocked the door to the basement, a fresh pot of coffee in her other hand. She was normally a tea pony, but she needed something high enough in caffeine to make it through the night.

 

“Now you need to resterilize,” Spike said.

 

“I know, but I’m not going to be doing anything correctly without a pick-me-up.” She set the pot down and filled an already cleaned cup with a straw. Sterilizing took another ten minutes and a draft of coffee. Spike had put the body back on the table, wiped up the little dribble of blood still coming from the wound, and waited for her to begin.

 

“Alright... Cause of death?”

 

“Me.”

 

She snorted. “Heh heh, prior to embalming and an unfortunate encounter with a dragon.”

 

“Renal failure.”

 

“Cancer?”

 

“Kinda. Drank two gallons of water every day for the last twenty years because he was afraid of stomach cancer.”

 

“Huh. While there is a correlation between magnesium in hard water and lower risk of gastric cancer, that’s not a preventative measure.”

 

“Hey, the cause was simple. I didn’t say it made sense.”

 

Given the draconic trauma, Twilight’s primary concern was the state of the vital organs. Some incisions and a rib spreader later, they cracked open his rib cage.

 

“Extensive trauma to the left lung and both heart ventricular cavities. Subject expired in seconds. Expected.”

 

Twilight started coughing. Spike took the initiative and wiped his glove hand on the table. A few droplets of bright red blood clung to his hands and he smeared it between two fingers.

 

“We’ve got some pretty good coloration here. Bright red equals good oxygenation. Despite the hole I’m pretty sure shouldn’t be there, vascular system was working up to scratch. Musta rolled high with his strength and dex stats ‘cause rigor mortis didn’t mean all that much when he jumped off the table. Coupled with the esteemed professor’s bruised throat, it shows some decent muscle control and fine motor skills after reanimation. Good blood flow to extremities.”

 

She hadn’t even thought about rigor mortis. “Good c-catch,” she coughed.

 

He continued, “Extreme mania upon awakening. All the causes I know are mental. Nervous system problem?”

 

“I concur.” Twilight couldn’t help but feel a small swelling of pride in his deductions.

 

Spike was browsing the remaining internal organs. “Liver’s good, but kinda gray. Kidneys are shot to shit.”

 

“Language, Spike.”

 

“Spleen, gallbladder, stomach, intestines. All fine considering how long we had him on the table. Hard to say what should or shouldn’t be damaged due to the short reanimation time, or whatever snafu we made to make him lose his mind.”

 

“It was my mistake, Spike, not yours.”

 

“Ours. I’m in this with ya, Twi.”

 

His eyes demanded no objection. She nodded her thanks.

 

“We also have to consider that the procedure is fundamentally flawed from the start.”

 

He shook his head. “Consider it at least a partial success. Got up and went for you even if he didn’t know what he was doing. Maybe not sapient, yeah, but sure shows some thought, even if he’s just like a wild dog going after a piece of meat.”

 

Did he just call her a piece of meat?

 

“Time to crack him open?” Spike took a slug of coffee.

 

“Find the vibrating saw. And give me that.”

 

Spike was the one to split open the skull. She’d been coughing on and off and didn’t trust herself with a saw of any kind. A little aerosol spray stained his apron as he cut around the head. Twilight was carefully waiting as he removed the skull and placed her hand inside to hold the brain in place.

 

She jumped as the liquefied remains dripped through her fingers. What hadn’t putrefied into a disgusting mess was ridden with tumorous growths. 

 

Spike looked down. “Well, there’s your problem.”

 

* * *

There was an ornate silver and glass chandelier in Twilight’s office, although she rarely used it. The desk lamp alone was always enough It reminded her of the library, of her old study in Canterlot. Something about a single light at her desk just felt homey.

 

“Spike?”

 

He already had parchment in hand.

 

“October fourth, zero nine thirty hours. The first trial run was a failure. Granted, achieving a successful reanimation had fantastically low first time odds to begin with, but I couldn’t foresee the violent reaction Spike and I would end up seeing. I suppose I should treat my draconic companion to a special something in the future.”

 

Spike’s forked tongue darted from his smiling lips.

 

“Each bodily system, from the vascular, to the muscular, to the respiratory system, works as expected and within acceptable guidelines. Unfortunately, our subject was confirmed alive for less than one minute, so there is a recognizable possibility that it would not remain so. I do not expect that outcome to be true. A full autopsy showed all bodily organs were regenerating enough to sustain life before termination. This is easily explained. These systems are simple, and it starts with adequate blood supply. Blood diffuses oxygen and nutrients, and each system’s limits and secrets have been mapped out long before my time. All except one.

 

“We have hydroelectric dams, blimps to carry ponies into the skies, and steam trains capable of carrying more cargo than a hundred drawn carts. To this very day, the brain is as complex and mysterious as it was a century ago. Every answer only conjures more questions. My reagent gives the brain renewed life, my spellcraft gives the body the spark to begin again. But it is not the body that failed, but the mind. Our first subject awoke screaming and violently psychotic; he was only stopped by Spike’s timely assistance.”

 

Twilight sighed. There were quite a few unknowns, and none of them could be answered so readily. 

 

“If I could theorize what went wrong, my reagent dosage was much too large and, coupled with fresh nutrients crossing the blood-brain barrier, it hyperstimulated the brain. The parts that liquified were dedicated to higher brain functions. The brain stem was perfectly intact, thus why involuntary systems remained functional. The cerebrum suffered massive damage. Less so with the cerebellum, but there was noticeable impairment. Additionally, it is quite possible that the growths we discovered on the parts of the brain that had not liquified were already there, and my reagent boosted their growth at a logarithmic rate.

 

“We shall see in time. I will need to lessen the dosage in further tests. I feel the need to alter the spell matrix in regards to the relationship between blood and the brain, but doing so might have unforeseen consequences. Let us tamper with one variable at a time. End log.”

 

Spike rolled up the parchment and labeled it for later. There was nothing more ungodly irritating than a catalog system that didn’t work.

 

“So the question is,” Twilight began, “what should be checked first? The possibility of a defective brain, or checking if the reagent had an improper dosage?”

 

Spike shrugged and sat on the floor.

 

“There’s a chair right there, Spike.”

 

“I’m good.”

 

“Fine. Any opinion?”

 

He scratched his chin with a claw. “Not really. The problem was neurological, we got that. If you’re talking about focusing on either the tumors or the reagent, I’d say try your hocus pocus potion first. Stretch goal is it’s going to be used on a bad brain eventually anyway. Might as well get it over with. You’re not even sure if the reagent made the tumors, or it it just egged on what was already there.”

 

Twilight’s ears drooped. “Yeah, but there was only one recent body buried in Ponyville cemetery. We’re not going to get another out of the blue unless we move the lab, which we can’t do.”

 

So close. So very close. She was tickling the power to stop death with her fingertips. Knowledge from ages ago, brought back with the viziers of old. Sleeping titans who were defeated long ago awaken and wreak untold destruction could be stopped when the heroes of yore rise from the grave. To give a family peace when they lost one too soon. To give a mother hope for her stillborn child.

 

Twilight remembered the weight of her body pressed into the shovel. Defilement, yes. Black magic, yes. Necromancy. Black mages were persecuted still, but she was so close. The body functions were there. She just needed to fix the mind. 

 

Undead soldiers risen from battlefields, revenants, liches, grave robbery, and perverse sorcery There were countless reasons why the art was banned, but this was for the greater good.

 

“Well... there  _ might _ be another way.”

 

Twilight perked up. “What?”

 

“The township doesn’t own the only graveyard. The hospital has a plot of land for life cases, drifters and strays, or those a little wonky in the head. We could give that a quick look.”

 

She’d been to the hospital enough. That was part of the reason she started her research in the first place. Huh. Why didn’t she think of that? Twilight leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. 

 

“Spike, I don’t tell you you’re brilliant nearly enough.”

 

* * *

 

The biggest problem was data. Medical histories, blood types, past surgeries or medications, genders, sexual promiscuity, innoculations, past diseases, mental health. All of it was needed to choose the best subject. All of it was covered under doctor-patient confidentiality and not in the public record. Even then, there was the issue of procurement.

 

“Remind me to install some straps on the table next time.”

 

“I already had them ordered, Spike.”

 

Research and intel was the easy part. The fun part. It was like a game, or one of Celestia’s old logic puzzles. Everything had a place, even if its place was only a red herring. In order to put together the pieces, she first had to exploit one of Spike’s new skills: breaking and entering. It was not an easy task. Whereas the cemetery had no security at all, the Ponyville hospital had plenty. Twilight had the money and resources necessary to do the job, but in the end, it would all come down to Spike’s ability to not get caught. It just so happened that sneaking around for Twilight’s hidden gem stashes when he was still a juvenile had come in handy. It wasn’t even midnight when he returned.

 

“I don’t like this.” Twilight was flicking through the copied documents. Each deceased pony was assorted by blood type, and then further assorted by medical conditions. They had plenty to choose from, but none that would be whole, intact bodies.

 

“We don’t have any options, Twi,” Spike said quietly. His tail was flicking back and forth as he scanned each file. “The most important part is getting an intact nervous system.”

 

That was easy enough. There were several, but the hospital rarely had funds to spring for the full costs of funerals. No embalming, no caskets. She’d have to do a reverse vivisection and splice together bodies with matching genetic material and immunities. Not impossible, but it certainly complicated things.

 

“I think these two will be out best bet.” Spike handed her two sets of medical records.

 

“Screw Loose... and Screwball.” Any relation?

 

“None. Screw Loose was a life case and mother died in childbirth. Screwball just kinda appeared one day.”

 

Both female, O positive blood types, zero genetic abnormalities, minimal diseases. Screwball was non vocal, but Screw Loose wasn’t. 

 

Well, it was worth a shot.

 

* * *

 

Twilight had once read a book about a pony physician that had set up shop on an island flush with wildlife and people. The mid-book twist was that the pony was an expert vivisectionist that had turned animals into ponies. The narrator saw ponies with boar tusks and cloven hooves, a lion’s mane and fangs, and a prehensile monkey’s tail rather than a pony’s own natural tail.

 

No pony was that skilled. Twilight was bright, even she admitted that, but even she lacked the ability to completely change a pony’s species with surgery alone. Splicing skin and organs together into one body however? It was almost like organ donation.

 

_ ‘If only mom could see me now _ ...’ Even Twilight was sure if she was wistful or lamenting.

 

Screw Loose’s body was the base, as she had the intact nervous system. What organs that weren’t salvageable were removed from Screwball, including skin grafts. By eleven at night, Screw Loose’s body was a patchwork of blues and pinks. Even Twilight had to admit her work was superb. She ran a gloved hand across her bare arm. Smooth skin with no dermal damage. Wonderful.

 

“She’s kinda cute for a stiff.”

 

Twilight raised an eyebrow at Spike. True, Screw Loose wasn’t bad to look at, especially taking into account her generously endowed chest. No organs of viscera on display, currently not in a frothing rage, and the patches of her skin were cleanly stitched together. She still looked like a patchwork pony, but a pony nevertheless. 

 

“I’m... not sure how to respond to that.”

 

Spike opened his mouth, then closed it. “Uhhhh... Well, me either, I guess. She is, though.”

 

“...Alright, let’s just ignore that comment and continue.”

 

Everything was ready. Her reagent called to her once more. It was the product of five years of nonstop research and experimentation, along with a healthy dose of reverse engineering many spells and alchemical solutions from the restricted copies of Starswirl’s work. Science and sorcery, all in a glowing green package.

 

“No signs of cerebral damage or malignant growths.” She pulled the very same jar of reagent out of the fridge along with a syringe. “Dosage reduced to fifteen CCs.”

 

“That stuff looks like it could melt a hole in the floor,” Spike mumbled from behind his face mask as he strapped Screw Loose to the table.

 

“I have to use a glass syringe because it eats through plastic, if that’s any consolation.”

 

Spike lifted her subject’s head. It was time for the final touches, the last lap. She brushed Screw Loose’s lengthy hair to the side in order to get the proper angle and plunged the needle directly into the amalgamate woman’s head.

 

Both retreated. Spike could do nothing else now. Twilight consumed her elixir and became blinded to the world once again. It was a strange sensation, losing all the senses that made her life worth living.It was a resolute piece of her life.

 

No matter. Twilight brushed the errant thought aside and continued weaving her necromantic spells. They alone did not call beyond the grave; her reagent was a critical piece of the process. Despite that, her spellcraft helped give life to the lifeless. There was no mistaking what she was doing as the lightning arced from her fingertips. She could almost see the power shocking the muscles and mind into life.

 

Before Twilight knew it, she was looking at Spike again. “Three, now help me up.”

 

“You were out one minute and forty two seconds. A new record.” He reached out a hand and pulled her to her feet. Twilight’s knees buckled, but held.

 

She was exhausted. Truly tired to her bones. Was the first revival this draining? All she could remember about the post-procedure was waiting and then the attack. Spike pulled up a chair so she could sit and checked the clock.

 

“Four minutes.”

 

Another waiting game. Twilight tapped her fingers against her knee. Five minutes. Six.

 

Seven, eight, nine, and ten.

 

“It’s taking too long.”

 

“You don’t know that.”

 

“Spike, look,” Twilight brushes a finger across Screw Loose’s cheek. The skin whitened and then took on a slight rosy tinge. “My spell worked fine, but the brain’s not responding. It’d only be a matter of time until brain death. Again.”

 

“But—”

 

“I’m upping the dosage another five CCs.” She filed the syringe before he had time to protest. “Lift her head.”

 

Spike was going to argue, but a sharp look cut him off. His eyes were on her as he carefully cradled Screw Loose’s skull. 

 

The reaction was immediate and visceral. The patchwork pony’s hands clenched and her lungs gasped for air that it hadn’t tasted in almost a year. Her hands and feet were velcro strapped the bed, with additional leather straps holding her chest and knees to the cold table. Screw Loose fought her bindings but could not break free from the precautionary measure. Whereas the stallion was violent, hers was only panicked and uncontrolled.

 

Her chest heaved as she looked about and saw the pair of them. She opened her mouth, gasping for breath, but no words came forth.

 

Twilight leaned down. One eye was beady and vividly violet, the other large and purple. Beautiful. Twilight moved to the left. Those eyes followed her.

 

“Welcome back.”

 

* * *

 

Twilight watched the mare as she slept peacefully. She’d given her a mild sedative soon after revival. Data as early as possible was preferable, but this was no mere science experiment. This was life from the lifeless. Spike was checking her vitals, but the patchwork mare needed sleep.

 

She’d done it. Death had reaped his final reward.

 

Spike undid the belt cuff and walked to Twilight’s chair on the other side of the room. Twilight had three bedrooms for herself in the castle. The first was her normal but stately room. The other two were a small cot hidden away in her library, and a repurposed room in the basement. She always liked being able to get up and get back to work on a moment’s notice. Given that the newly living Screw Loose/Screwball hybrid needed a place to rest that was out of the public eye, her basement bedroom was the best option.

 

“Well, vitals are doing okay. Heartbeat is steady, O2 sat’s fine, respiration, all pretty good. Her BP’s low, though. Wouldn’t mind checking blood glucose while we’re at it, either.”

 

Twilight smiled at the drake. “Spike, have you ever thought about going to medical school?”

 

“Nope. After all the garbage that goes on in Ponyville on a weekly basis, I’d be bored out of my mind in any school.”

 

“Well, it’s something to think about. I’d gladly throw my name around or recommend you to a few professors.”

 

He returned her smile, only his was full of dagger-like protrusions. “Who will write your letters?”

 

“Spike, I’m not a complete invalid.”

 

“Does that mean partial invalid?”

 

She punched him in the arm. Twilight’s eyes returned to the sleeping mare and recalled her dual histories. Screwball suddenly appeared during Discord’s first appearance. She was quickly taken in by the hospital and kept there permanently until her death last year; she was nonvocal during her entire stay until she just simply died in the night. Screw Loose was taken in due to foalhood trauma and her condition devolved over time into extreme schizophrenia. Whereas the former’s heart gave out with the passage of time, mere happenstance killed off the latter. An accidental cut that became septic, and then full on blood poisoning.

 

“What do you suppose we should call her?” Spike asked.

 

“Screw Loose.”

 

“Do you think there’s a little of Screwball in that noggin?”

 

“Impossible. Only Screw Loose’s brain was used. One brain, one set of memories.”

 

“Yeah. Still...”

 

“Speak your mind, Spike.”

 

His scraped his nails across the floor, a sound that made her grit her teeth. 

 

“Does she know she’s Screw Loose?”

 

She sighed.

 

“We’ll wait and see.”

 

* * *

 

“October fifteenth, zero ten hundred hours. Success! It’s been almost a full twelve hours since reanimation, and our subject’s still going on strong. We’ve set up a banana bag for fluid intake, but she’ll need solid foods before long. My colleague Spike and I are about to speak with her for the first time since she’s taken breath. There’s just so much to say and do, so much to learn! Ponies have the possibility to live lifetimes now! Should another academic come across these notes, let it be known that I would have never gotten this far without Spike. This will be a short log, but i cannot wait for those to come. End log.”

 

Twilight set down her quill. Spike was the one writing, but having something in hand helped her focus her thoughts.

 

“Ready?”

 

Spike was finishing up the log. “Never... gotten... this far without... the magnificent and illustrious... Spike.” He rolled up the scroll and passed it to her.

 

“If I go through past logs, am I going to find any editorials?”

 

“Maybe a few.”

 

The pair of them walked to the old bedroom, Twilight with a little skip in her step. Screw Loose was still sleeping peacefully, but moved when Spike quietly shut the door behind them. Her bedroom wasn’t all that large and just served the purpose of giving Twilight a place to crash. All it had for amenities was a cheap bed, a sturdy desk, and a couple of bookshelves holding material relating to everything from natural sciences to philosophy.

 

Screw Loose was wearing a pair of pants much too large and a shirt much too small. Spike had found an old belt to help keep her dressed, but her large chest would stretch even the largest dresses and skirts Twilight owned. 

 

Twilight saw Screw Loose fidget as she approached. She put a hand on the stitched up shoulder. Warm to the touch. Excellent.

 

“Hello there,” Twilight said with kindness and a shake. Screw Loose started and blinked blearily. 

 

Twilight got her first good look at the mare. Screw Loose had a light blue skin tone, whereas Screwball was of a light pink. Much of Screw Loose’s skin wasn’t viable dermal protection, so Twilight grafted what she could of Screwball onto her. It gave her a patched up appearance and she still bore the thread holding the grafts in place. She also bore a significant number of Screwball’s organs, the most notable of which was one of her eyes. Her right was Screw Loose’s original violet, and the other Screwball’s fuchsia.

 

She snapped away from Twilight’s hand and backed up until she pressed against the wall. Screw Loose opened her mouth to speak but nothing came.

 

“Easy, easy,” Twilight squatted down and Spike followed suit. “You’ve been through a lot.” More than anypony had ever gone through. “We’re not here to hurt you.”

 

Screw Loose’s mouth opened once again, but said nothing. A pink hand went to her breast. She seemed surprised by her own action and began looking at both palms. After a moment’s observation, as if she forgot she had company, her eyes returned to Spike and Twilight.

 

‘ _ She’s nonvocal, _ ’ Twilight noted. ‘ _ She shouldn’t have speech aphasia. The frontal lobe was fine. _ ’

 

She kneeled and held a hand to her chest. “Twilight Sparkle.” She put her hand on Spike’s shoulder. “Spike.”

 

Screw Loose looked back and forth between them. She put a hand to her own chest and prepared to speak, but expectedly issued only silence. A minute passed before she inched her way forward.

 

“Do you remember your name?” Twilight asked slowly. Screw Loose flinched, opened her mouth, then closed it. Another minute passed before Screw Loose started creeping forward. She reached out a hand. Twilight did the same, grateful that they were making some sort of headway.

 

Something that vanished in a puff of smoke when Screw Loose started running her hand through her feathers. She ran a hand through the feathers once, then twice, a look of whimsical wonder on her face. She looked over her own shoulder as if to check if she had feathers. She leaned forward a little more, reaching for Twilight’s wings.

 

Twilight saw the look of alarm just a hair before Screw Loose slipped and tumbled off the bed. The two of them fell in a heap and flailing limbs as Screw Loose panicked and grabbed onto Twilight, only to bring her to the ground with her.

 

“Ow...” Twilight moaned. Spike just chuckled to himself. “You could have done something.”

 

“Yeah, but it wouldn’t have been nearly as funny.”

 

Screw Loose rubbed her head and got to her knees. She blinked and cocked her head, and, now that she was almost in Twilight’s lap, began running a hand on Twilight’s wing in wonder.

 

“Screw Loose?” 

 

Screw Loose looked at her and tilted her head. Good. At least she knew her own name even if she couldn’t speak. 

 

Wait. Did she know her own name, or was she just responding to Twilight’s voice? She’d have to test that out. Right now, figuring out why she couldn’t speak seemed more pertinent.

 

“Spike, can you get a flashlight?” He wordlessly got up and left the room. “Alright, patchwork pony, I’m going to need you to follow my finger.” 

 

Twilight held up a finger. Screw Loose looked at her own hand and held up a finger.

 

“No, I need you to watch my finger as I move it.”

 

Twilight pointed towards her heterochromatic eyes, and then to her own finger. She started moving it from side to side. Screw Loose ignored the implied request to watch her finger move and instead moved her own finger. Twilight facepalmed, another act Screw Loose mimicked much to her chagrin. Spike can back carrying a pocket flashlight and handed it to Twilight.

 

“Alright,” she said. Twilight turned it on and shined it at Screw Loose’s eyes. Violet and fuchsia blinked back at her. “Dilatations are fine.”

 

“Hmm?” Spike asked.

 

“Checking for blood clots. Speech aphasia is a common result of a stroke and you can sometimes tell by the pupil.”

 

Twilight’s explanation was cut off by Spike’s titanic belch. She leaned away in disgust before she saw the emerald flames slithering from his open maw. In a flash of dragonflame, a single scroll stamped with Celestia’s personal seal fell into his hands.

 

“Haaaah!” Screw Loose’s cry of delight was enough to make a smile tug Twilight’s lips. Of all things to break her silence, it was a vulgarity. The way she looked at Spike, smile wide and hands clasped together, made her think of a foal first seeing presents on Hearth’s Warming Eve.

 

‘ _ At least we know her voice works _ .’

 

“Here.” Spike handed her the letter. “I’ll keep princess entertained while you see what’s up.”

 

Well, her attention was entirely focused on him. He sat down next to her and she clapped once. “Wanna see a magic trick?”

 

Twilight left Screw Loose in his more than capable claws. Crude, childish humor the sudden letter may have produced, at least she was bonding with someone now. Twiligh got up and walked back into the lab where Screw Loose had been revived the previous night.

 

Did something go wrong with the procedure? She had to have gotten it right, but Screw Loose couldn’t speak correctly. Screw Loose wasn’t in the best mental health when she died, but she was capable of carrying on a conversation. She could speak, and recognize people and words. 

 

Perhaps... Yes, another means of expressionism instead. They could test her creativity, see if she could draw or write instead of speak. There was some colored pencils in storage somewhere. She’d have to ask Spike where they were now. Screw Loose was acting childlike. Start with a child’s tools and work all the way up.

 

So many questions, so much data to collect.

 

Sighing, she broke the seal on the scroll and unrolled it.

 

> _ My dear Twilight, _
> 
>  
> 
> _ I apologize for the tardiness of this letter. While I do ascribe the excuse partly to state business, the truth of the matter is I wasn’t entirely sure how to respond. I am afraid you had caught me by quite the surprise. I’ve lived long enough that I have a response for nearly any inquiry, but this was one of the rare few that I chose to take my time to carefully word. _
> 
>  
> 
> _ I do congratulate you in one sense. Death is not something to be feared, but embraced. I’m proud that you do not not suffer in that sense, but it is my understanding that you worry over the loss of loved ones. As contradictory as what I am about to say may feel, please take it to heart: that is good. _
> 
>  
> 
> _ I don’t know how to love my subjects, friends, and family, and not feel the agony of loss. One comes with the other invariably in my experience. If you feel that ache, it means you have yet to fall so far you don’t know empathy, the difference from right and wrong. Death comes for us all. Not even I can stop death when he comes for me. _
> 
>  
> 
> _ I have known ponies in the past who shied away from others until their hearts have turned to stone because they could not vanquish the constant fear of losing them. They would rather not make friends and avoid that pain rather than have them and risk suffering a tragic breakup or death. To them, pain holds more sway over pleasure. _
> 
>  
> 
> _ Yet as I say that, I fully understand why they would make such a decision. I have seen soldiers with eyes of iron and hearts of ash. They know life can change and all company included may die in a single moment. For the long lived, we cannot help but retain the company and friendship of others. Age after age is a long time to live with one’s own thought. We need others to keep us in check, to keep us grounded if we stray from our path, to catch us if we fall. Some call it a necessity. Some call it survivor’s guilt. _
> 
>  
> 
> _ I know what I am about to say may very well change your opinion of me. For better or worse, please hear me through to the end. _
> 
>  
> 
> _ In olden times, my sister and I had each other until that night. Ageless need others, be it for companionship or like likes like. I am not an exception. I didn’t know what that lesson meant until a few centuries afterward. I’ve made mistakes in my life, Twilight. I’ve corrected what I can, but understand that Luna was my own anchor, and without her, I started to drift. It was small things, at first. Nigh inconsequential.  _

 

At this, Twilight saw smudged ink stained into the parchment where a single splash marred the page and was brushed away.

 

 

>  
> 
> _ You are too young to feel the full burden of rule. There are those that place absolute stock in a ruler’s word, their every whim and desire. I could have had terrible things done for my amusement, and to my everlasting shame, all it took was a word. Power corrupts, dear Twilight. In darker times I would reflect on my deeds. I was a good princess, I told myself. I believe I am today, but good and bad isn’t such a clear, binary measure of one’s worth. A wicked pony can still be honorable. A good pony can still commit terrible sins. _
> 
>  
> 
> _ I knew my sister would return one day, her wrath greater and more terrible than ever before. I didn’t care. I loved her, and I didn’t care. I could have faced a demon, or the gentle eyes of my Luna, but I had lost myself. I had been drifting for so long, I didn’t even know what I stood for anymore. As her return drew nearer, I had lost my sense of right and wrong. I was going through the paces of life and rule one day at a time. I firmly believe if I had met Nightmare Moon that solstice, I would have given myself over to the darkness. _
> 
>  
> 
> _ And that’s when a miracle happened. You. _
> 
>  
> 
> _ I’ve loved and lost subjects and students, but never in all my years had I met a pony who could surpass me, who aspired to so much with such a love of learning. You were my savior, my reason to be. I watched you grow and develop into a blade of hope and sacrosanct values. I dried your eyes when you were sad and praised your achievements. You were my anchor to keep me from a suicidal end. _
> 
>  
> 
> _ Starswirl has passed. One day, Sunset Shimmer will pass. One day, you will pass. One day, my sister and I shall pass. Regardless of the inevitability, everyone in my life has given me so much joy. Love your friends, Twilight. Love them and never let them go until their passing is at hand. When that time comes, know there will be those around you to help you shoulder that burden. Remember the good times and bad, and share a drink with those that remain over a fire. The scar will remain, but the wound will heal. _
> 
>  
> 
> _ No doubt I have given you much to think about. Day or night, you are always welcome in my walls. I understand the contents of this letter may have some ramifications, and I invite you to the castle for a personal talk at your convenience.  _
> 
>  
> 
> _ With you until the end, _
> 
>  
> 
> _ Celestia _

 

To keep oneself grounded. 

 

Twilight's friends were there through the good times and bad. They laughed at the terrible jokes, and sat with her on a blanket under the warm summer sun. There were there to tell her when she was wrong and had taken things too far. Celestia would have known better than anypony what Twilight felt, or understood the impetus that would drive her to delve into necromantic magics. 

 

Wouldn’t Celestia more than any other embrace her success? Maybe... 

 

So why had it not crossed her mind until now to tell her mentor and oldest friend?

 

Necromancy was a terrible sin, and what would one as kind and benevolent as Celestia think upon seeing her practice such dark arts? As long as Celestia didn’t know, she would see the shy little filly, her innocence unspoiled by the utter terror of being alone. If Celestia didn’t know, she would remain a friend. The friendship wouldn’t die.

 

“I don’t want to be alone...”

 

The letter slipped from Twilight’s fingers and flittered to the ground. She made no attempts to catch it and instead slid down against the wall until she was huddled in a ball. Her breath hitched in her throat and at long last she began to cry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to bother me on my tumblr under the username doctoredmundsirus.  
> Edited by: Grimm, Reader Review  
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